


Assorted Ficlets of Varying Size

by ladykarasu



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Implied impending manly lovins, Multi, Tumblr Fic, Tumblr Prompt, crossovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykarasu/pseuds/ladykarasu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic snippets from Tumblr (mostly ask-box fics, so necessarily fairly short).</p><p>Presently all BBC Sherlock (with a bit of Discworld crossover thrown in), a Reichenbach Fall short, and at least two art-fills.  Also, Squidlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Errant Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Random_Nexus for this being a thing; if I hadn't taken one of her posts wildly out of context a Sherlock/Discworld crossover would never have occurred to me. [The egging on probably didn't help, either. *laughs*]
> 
> This will be part of a larger story, but I'm posting this bit now so her [related ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/311814/chapters/508413) will make sense. ;) Guess I need to get myself in gear, now...

“Where’s Sherlock?”

“Hmm? Oh, probably with Esme by now.”

“WHAT?”

“Well, that’s the direction he was heading in, anyway.”

“Oh god…”

“Oh, don’t worry, she hardly ever turns anyone into anything else. Prefers headology, really.”

There was a long, quiet pause, then _“Oh god….”_

John wasn’t sure who he was running off to save, but he felt it imperative to cut that meeting as short as possible. The world couldn’t take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just thoroughly entertained by the prospect of Sherlock and Granny Weatherwax in the same room; I’m convinced they’d either kill each other or be the most disturbing friends ever. I have headcanon for this now… (workin’ on it…)


	2. Tea for Two (Tyrants)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's nice to know someone understands... even if it took cross-dimensional travel to manage. [Mycroft & Vetinari at teatime (not to be mistaken for the assassin)]

Mycroft studied the troll figure in his hand, turning it to catch the light before replacing it next to the board.

"We have a similar game. Although, neither trolls nor dwarves are involved." A faint smirk briefly passed over his face, and he added, _"Well..."_ but didn't elaborate.

Vetinari sipped his tea, adding only, "I suppose every universe will have some variation, somewhere", and let the silence fall again. This was normal for such visits, as men like these tended to say more when they said nothing at all.

“The clacks?”

Vetinari allowed the smallest flicker of satisfaction to flit across his face.

“Handled.”

He would have his opponents next move in days, rather than weeks, now. They continued to enjoy their tea in mostly-silence for another 20 minutes before pressing matters would call either of their attentions away. Still, it was nice to visit with someone who understood what the work was like; even if it took cross dimensional travel to manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one I’m not touching, really, not doing it - but the prospect of Mycroft and Vetinari getting together for social visits and not-discussing the work amuses me to no end. Thank you Pratchett, for L-space, and the ability to in canon-compliance crossover just about anything. (Because, really, Mycroft would know about it if anyone did)


	3. (Unnatural) Trials of a First Time Parent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Side-story in the Squidlock AU. John goes... crib shopping. [This chapter only: tentacle 'romance' and mpreg references. Also tired John, slacking Sherlock and somewhat confused shop girls]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to be at a work function for the husband last night instead of watching Sherlock like I’d have preferred, so I wrote ask-fic while I was there. Then I started typing it up and it was no longer ask-fic size. I blame the aquarium at the bar. O_o
> 
> Related directly to Random_Nexus’s [weirdly cool squidlock dream](http://random-nexus.tumblr.com/post/12614186733/tentacle-dream-srsly-whats-with-my-brain) (that she needs to write into full-fledged fic. Soon. Just saying…)

It had been an easy pregnancy, at least. Weird, but easy. He’d felt a little bloated, a little uncomfortable, but there were none of the other major pregnancy discomforts that tended to crop up.

Admittedly, morning sickness was not conducive to carrying your young to term when they resided in your stomach – protective sac or not – but he wasn’t sure if that was a lucky coincidence, or something in his biology adapting to the situation. He supposed he could ask Sherlock his opinion on the matter, but dreaded the thought of experimentation that might spark.

So, easy pregnancy, relatively simple ‘birthing’ process (a bit closer to stomach pumping than he’d like to think about, but at least he was out for it), and four little ones floating in the bathtub. (They were strangely adorable, tiny arms and tentacles just able to encircle his fingers - but that could be parenthood talking.) This, of course, left him hale and healthy enough to go ‘crib’ shopping – since there was no way Sherlock could be bothered to do it himself.

Even though _he_ was the better choice, since _he_ knew what the hell the little ones would need.

He wasn’t sure if it was Sherlock’s lineage, or just his personality, but he certainly hadn’t fallen in love with the other man for his prospective partnership-in-parenting skills. (Who would send a new ‘mother’ out for baby supplies the day after giving birth? Wasn’t there some universal rule that they get at least a little pampering at the start? And he was not going to laugh that that thought formed in his own head, because that way laid hysterics.) In his own defense, he’d never thought it a particular possibility, so the doctor allowed himself that oversight.

John sighed through his frustration as he made his way into the pet store.

He had to look a bit confused when he entered; the lady behind the counter came over to him almost immediately, asking if he needed any help. Happy to have it, he explained why he was there.

“Have you ever had an aquarium before?” The attendant appeared eager and helpful, but something in the look implied that he should perhaps start out with a goldfish and a large bowl. Or a potted plant. John shook it off as having spent entirely too much time with Sherlock.

“Ah…. No, this will be the first. I’ve got a list of what we’ll need, though.” He dug through his pocket for the carefully itemized list Sherlock had written him, handed it over gratefully. He knew bugger all about tanks and filters and such, but presumably Sherlock would know what was required, given his own experience. He hoped.

John followed the shop-girl distractedly as she started pulling out the requested items. After a moment, he shrugged that last thought off – Sherlock had to know what he was doing, he’d been through this himself at least once, and family always talked about what trouble you were as a child. Well, normal families, so maybe that did count him out—

Glancing up he realized he hadn’t heard a word the attendant had just said to him. “I’m sorry, what? It’s been a long week…”

She smiled, just a touch strained around the eyes, but still sounding relatively enthusiastic. “I asked if you were new to fish?” She had already started moving things back to the till.

“Hm? Oh, ya – never had any; it’s for the kids, really…”

Oh, that’s not what he’d wanted to say. A tired John should talk less, and ingest more caffeine before leaving the flat, he noted.

“Oh! They’ll love it – I remember my first aquarium, we had Swordtails when I was young.” She smiled more genuinely, and he sagged in relief when she took that the way normal people who hadn’t just experienced giving birth to sea-monsters-in-potential would. “Dad said we couldn’t have a puppy until we could take care of something that wouldn’t mess the rugs, first. Allison was disappointed, but I loved them. ”

She started ringing up his items, obviously off in her own memories now, but paused at the tank. “This is a bit large for a starter tank – what kind of fish are you getting?”

“Fish? Oh-“, he recognized the look as concerned enquiry; scrambled for a suitable answer – John knew nothing about fish breeds. “Um, I guess they’re exotics…” True enough. Didn’t clear the concern, though – her eyebrows just furrowed.

“This is the wrong rig for you, then, do you know what varieties you’re working with? We can get you something more appropriate-”

Oh. He waved it off. “No, no, this is what I need – I’m not; I don’t know anything about this sort of thing, but my flatmate is an expert.” He should be. “If this is what he says we need, it’s what we need.”

“If you’re sure, then.” She looked a bit dubious, but finished ringing his purchases and they completed the transaction. He bundled things in the least awkward arrangement he could manage, and trundled out of the store, certain in the knowledge that other first-time parents did not have to go through things like this.

Now to get home, get the aquarium set up, and put the kids down for a nap. At least they wouldn’t need a bath, first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only I could write a fic that’s based on a more-or-less tentacle porn dream, and not actually have a lick of sexytimes in it. Really, only me.
> 
> May have also written more Mycroft & Vetinari... will have to find that first, though.


	4. Unlisted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been too long since he last got this impossible message. [Post Reichenbach Fall]

Three years later he would see a crime scene again – witness, this time; relegated to the other side of the tape, across that invisible line – not really a part of the work any longer, but still trying to help, trying to do good. And as he told the rookie officer what he had seen (and what he hadn’t), as he was all but ignored under the assumption that this was a suicide broadcast so loudly for having never been spoken to him – then, just then, his world shifted with the ping of a text.

“Wrong!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized belatedly that I never actually put the name in there, so while I have an intention to who that was (and what it related to), it could realistically be one of two people after all. Reader's call, then.


	5. Nanny Ogg Strikes Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Related to Random_Nexus' _special cake_ fic. Because what if... WHAT IF Nanny Ogg had been supplying those chocolate cakes this whole time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get me on a conversation that could potentially lead to a crossover; things like _this_ happen. Related directly to Random_Nexus' [Fucking Cake](http://archiveofourown.org/works/258044), and a Tumblr conversation about Nanny Ogg in relation to BBC Sherlock... again. Yet another unrelated Discworld crossover.

John sighed when he saw the post piled on the table. It was kind of Mrs. Hudson to bring it up, but he really wished Sherlock would at least look when there were packages; at least on the days he had later shifts, given some of the parcels Sherlock received were fairly volatile.

Shrugging out of his jacket with some frustration, he moved cautiously to the table. Nothing appeared to be fizzing or melting through the table, so that was a good sign. Paper mail was sorted to the side (to be further sorted into ‘bills not to let Sherlock lose’, ‘junk mail’ and occasionally 'love letters from maniacs' after making sure nothing would be exploding) and gingerly went through the few bubble packets and boxes. Chemical supplies, chemical supplies – he did NOT want to know what the package from the taxidermist contained – a small package from last client… he stopped short when he noticed the largest box bore his name.

Gingerly removing it from the pile of probably-safe-but-not-about-to-risk-it packages, he noted it was from Nanny. It appeared to have been sent down by courier, which meant she had been on a baking kick again. He smiled to himself as he removed the attached note and unfolded it.

_Dearest Johnny,_

_Sorry we missed you on the last trip down, but you know how Esme can get when we’re traveling on business. It all sorted right as rain, though, and since the world didn’t end and we didn’t get the chance to visit, I thought I’d just send down a special treat for you and your handsome man. Make sure to keep it cool until you’re ready for it, and plan time to really savor it – things like this shouldn’t be rushed._

_With Love,_

_Gytha_

He picked up the package and moved to the kitchen, calling out, “Sherlock! You need to look at the mail when it comes- this needed refrigerating!” Setting it on the table, he made short work of the wrapping. Nanny Ogg’s baked goods were always an affair to remember; occasionally for the worse, but usually they were quite good. With a grin he decided that he might just have to sample some now to make sure.  


Opening the lid, John was met with a cloyingly strong scent of chocolate, and something…. Else-- Something… familiar.  
An odd sort of dizziness hit him, but he felt pleasantly warm, and….  


Oh no. Oh, that just figured.

And of course, as his slacks suddenly became much more snugly fit in the now fume filled kitchen – this WOULD be the one time Sherlock came out to see what he was complaining about.

Savor, indeed. Well, it wasn’t his fault the cake hadn’t been refrigerated. He’d remind Sherlock of that later, if he complained about whatever he was doing being interrupted.

Much…. later.


	6. Spoils of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU in which John is a captured soldier and Sherlock finds him particularly interesting (and decides to keep him). Also, a horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Directly based on this lovely (NSFW) [piece of art](http://sherlockspeare.tumblr.com/post/18124414540/i-think-i-should-name-this-gorgeous-fan-art-wow). ...and a bit of outside prodding.

He had been surprisingly honorable on the field, which was quite rare. Whatever men liked to say in the comfort and safety of their own homes, or pubs, it was fairly uncommon in reality. When your life was truly in danger, when you were under fire, concepts like honor and courage were quickly given over for survival.

Sherlock was told that when he had been captured he didn’t curse, or plead; he saw his own situation, looked at his own options, and accepted it gracefully. Had he continued to resist they would have used leverage against him, but he may still have escaped at the cost of a few of his own men; again, he took the rare path. It was fascinating.

His own men found it less so; frustrated and confused by his lack of reaction – by his choice to act so contrary to the norm. They had stripped him bare, bound and lashed him; still, no reaction- he had borne it all stoically, quietly. 

When he arrives before Sherlock – mounted naked on his own horse – he is neither a broken nor beaten man; simply defeated. His head is still held high, regardless of the humiliation and rough treatment visited upon him.

It is not pride or false bravado; he appears to have simply accepted the reality of his situation for what it was – seeing no point in useless action. His breathing is even, controlled; he gives every outward appearance of calm, though there is a subtle, quiet tension to him; a certain bracing for whatever may come next.

Sherlock raises his own riding crop after a moment, and there is no flinch, no fear from the man as it nears his face; he simply closes his eyes in forbearance when the tip is placed under his chin, pushes his head up.

“ _Captain_ John Watson…” And then he was watching down the length of the crop. Not the passive look of resignation, but calculating; reading what he could of Sherlock, of this new development. Good. _Good_. He can feel his lips curve up just slightly, and he really means it when he adds, “A pleasure to meet you.”

John’s eyes flashed with a subtle, banked fire; not diminished in the least by his treatment or position. After a moment he speaks, voice tight, angry, but still polite. “Would you do me the kindness of getting _on_ with it already? Just kill me and be done with it; I’ve done nothing to warrant this.”

“Wrong!” The reply is sharp, instant, and he can feel the smirk grace his own lips as the other man startles; because in his own mind, he really hadn’t- has yet to understand. “You did; you caught my attention.” At this the riding crop is lowered, trailing down the other man’s body – over neck, torso, thigh – before coming to rest at his side again. “-and you will remain in my possession as long as you continue to be interesting.”

And now – here, the control cracks just a little; barest edge of panic showing through his control, cloaked with outrage. “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, but I can.” He smirks again, shifting his hold on the reigns, “Spoils of war.”

It will be stimulating, learning what makes this man tick; and he is _always_ looking for a new distraction…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah… I had made an off comment last night about wanting to write something [for this](http://sherlockspeare.tumblr.com/post/18124414540/i-think-i-should-name-this-gorgeous-fan-art-wow) just so I could legitimately call it ‘Spoils of War’. …and then [Random_Nexus](http://random-nexus.tumblr.com/) became an enabler… *shifty eyes* What? I’m weak!


	7. Under my wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fall, Sherlock looks out for John as best he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This [lovely](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=26081638), if melancholy piece of fanart ended up on my dash, and was compelled to write a fill for it. The below is the result. [ **Warning:** post-Reichenbach and slightly AU timeline for (pre-story) character death. You can guess which.]

It was frustrating how very little he could do.

There were stories and myths about what ‘angels’, or one’s deceased loved ones were capable of – prevalent thought that they could ‘watch out for you’ from beyond your perception. Well – Sherlock found to his frustration – he could _watch_ , but little else. 

He had already given everything he could to protect John, but that gift was tearing the man apart and there was little Sherlock could do from here to fix it – unable to communicate, to effect the physical world – all he could _do_ was watch, and wonder vaguely if his ‘help’ had been more cruel than Jim’s harm. (At least _that_ would have been quick.)

But as pointless as it seemed, he couldn’t leave John’s side – wouldn’t leave him like this, even if his presence did nothing. 

It wasn’t until he followed a sentimental impulse one day - to extend one wing around John’s back, as if he could offer shelter - that things started to change. Though Sherlock didn’t notice at first, when those feathers brushed his back, some of that tension leaked out of John’s frame. 

It happened more often, once he realized – one wing extended over him as he slept, driving the worst of the nightmares away, another brushing his back as they walked. Sometimes – when he wrapped his wings fully around John, when he came up behind John and wrapped him in everything he still was, his friend would relax, would sigh almost as if he could feel Sherlock there – and it would almost be okay. 

It became a constant touch, and he slowly watched John… not quite heal, there was always that loss, that touch of emptiness in his eyes – but watched him put his life back together again; watched him _live_ instead of exist. 

It had ached to watch him hurt, but in another way it also ached to watch him move on – to know even as Sherlock stood beside him, he wouldn’t know, was slipping further away from being _his_ John, _his_ friend. Still, every so often John would stop, pause, do something he would only have done with Sherlock – a flicker of a smile at inappropriate times, a sentimental gesture - and that appeased him. That he wasn’t forgotten. 

Sherlock could wait. Sherlock had never been a patient man, but he could wait – hoped to wait a long time, really – to be properly reunited with his friend again. After all, _he_ had never truly left. 

A point he was already planning to make often, throughout _John’s_ afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Husband’s alternate take: Sherlock gets increasingly frustrated that John doesn’t notice him, and/or the clues around him (‘She’s _obviously_ married, John’), and eventually whacks him with a wing out of sheer frustration, thus noticing the positive effects that way.)


End file.
